


Kageyama is a really big loser

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Kags is a big nerd pass it on, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Second Person, at this point i'd call it salvation, kill me with something sharp and rusted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 13:57:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1690754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hinata Shouyo, sunlight incarnate, falls gracelessly into your life and stays, radiating heat, inexplicably at your side. His is the kind of gravity that pulls without warning and the kind of familiarity that’s realized only when the grooves of your orbit strike deep into winter-hardened earth. He’s six a.m. and sweat as you run morning laps, arguing between puffed breaths and sleep-slow steps and Hinata Shouyo dawns like the sun on your winter horizon. </p><p>You burn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kageyama is a really big loser

Hinata Shouyo, sunlight incarnate, falls gracelessly into your life and stays, radiating heat, inexplicably at your side. His is the kind of gravity that pulls without warning and the kind of familiarity that’s realized only when the grooves of your orbit strike deep into the winter-hardened earth. He’s six a.m. and sweat as you run morning laps, arguing between puffed breaths and sleep-slow steps and Hinata Shouyo dawns like the sun on your winter horizon.

You burn.

...

The spring air is sweet on your tongue as you walk from the gym. Morning warms slowly against your skin, the fog rolling down and off the mountains above, disappearing like breath into daylight’s thermal haze. Night hangs stubbornly to the lowland with unsteady, wintry hands, curling close with a long, iced wind. 

“Kageyama,” he says, slapping at the arm of your jacket. You watch with carefully disinterested eyes as he pulls at his hat and tucks the red ends of his ears into its woolen fold. His mouth slides into a grin and your heart trips over itself, buoyed by an unspeakable belonging. “Buy me breakfast.”

“No, thanks,” you scoff, scuffing heavy shoes on concrete. Hinata whines wordlessly and turns so that he’s walking backwards, facing you as you leave the school’s front gate. An early practice meant playing on an empty stomach, and now you’re feeling the consequences. Your lightheadedness can only be explained by your hunger, you reason, the lie standing as the final remnants of a once-great fortress of denial. You think Hinata Shouyo is cute and you’re in need of a very, _very_ big breakfast.

“Jerk.” Hinata’s actually trotting in reverse, his short legs having to work double to keep ahead of your longer stride. The sunlight catches the hair that sticks out from under his knit beanie, burning for a short moment like a bronze halo around his head. Inside your chest, your traitorous heart actually skips a beat. Twisting your lips unhappily, you shoot back a committed:

“Dumbass.”

…

“I can’t believe you forgot your wallet,” Hinata snickers, standing beside you as you check your pockets again, in vain, for money. The line you’re in inches forward, the smell of fresh food soaking the store’s interior. Your stomach growls impatiently as you huff and cross stiff arms.

“I wouldn’t have if you didn’t rush me,” you snap, shuffling unwillingly forward as the line shifts again. Hinata shrugs, still smiling.

“I told you I would wait.” You study the scratched tile under your feet, cheeks burning with something close to shame. You’d (incorrectly) assumed that your wallet was in a pocket of your jacket, not in the chaotic depths of your locker, and Hinata’d already shrugged on his coat and opened the club room’s door, shivering as he watched you fumble awkwardly for the wallet you wouldn’t find. So, falling back on the faith that it was surely put away in one of the dozen pockets of your coat, you’d followed him out and into the cold.

And, stepping over the door’s muddy threshold, you’d realized that your high school life thus far has been a mad dash. You chase after Hinata like you’d die if you didn’t and sometimes, when your steps even out and you’re side by side, you like to think that he’s _different_. It’s a thawing, cloying kind of warmth that bakes under your skin when he smiles at you and sometimes you like to think that Hinata is— _special_.

“Hey.” You’re prodded from yourself and blink, surprised, as a red-Hinata shoves a steaming bun into your face. “Here.”

“What?” you ask stupidly.

“For you.” The steam beads as thick condensation on your cheek when he pushes it farther. Idly, you notice that he has to strain to reach your face.

You irritably snatch the food from him and follow in the following stunned silence to the doors. The road outside is bathed in blue light and you stuff one hand into a deep pocket and hold the gift in the other, the heat of it prickling like needles.

“You could at least say thanks,” he mutters around a mouthful of food, cutting sharp eyes sideways to meet yours. You take a bite, gingerly, and mutter a reluctant _thank you_ , thawing slowly under a rising sun.

...

The first time you kiss Hinata is sort of an accident and sort of a month of hysterical pining and it’s the first time you’ve ever wanted to dissolve into nothing. 

It’s late after a long day’s tournament in a city hours from home and exhaustion weighs at the ends of your fingers and chews as acid in your muscles. Hinata’s just barely awake, having slept most of the trip slumped on your shoulder, and the imprint of your shirt’s wrinkles in the flushed curve of his cheek pulls at you until you’re bent across the seat that stretches between his thighs and yours. You slip forward and brush your lips against his, just barely, your heart kicking immediately into high-gear.  

For an awful, world-rending second, you stare incredulously into his panicked eyes and think a belated: _maybe I shouldn’t_. You’d wish the bus would open up beneath you and swallow you whole, leaving nothing but your shame behind. Hinata’s breathing has gone from placid to dizzying in the space of a second and you’re half worried he’s going to _faint_ before his hands snap up and snag in the collar of your shirt and pull you down to meet him halfway. You’re surprised by how soft the second kiss is, even through the messy slide of his lips against yours, and you’re suddenly and insanely glad you’d secured the coveted backseat. 

“Okay,” he says, pulling away. You’ve got a hand wrapped around his wrist and half of your blood pooled in your red cheeks. You don’t think you’ve ever been happier than now, curled up in the darkest corner of a post-game-quiet bus with the human equivalent of a sun. “That was—“

“Sorry?” you offer, still holding his wrist, embarrassment pitching your voice too high. 

“No,” Hinata says, too quickly. He shakes his head earnestly, hair flopping with the jerky motion. “No, no. It was—“ He breaks off again, his eyes looking at everything but you. “—nice,” he finishes lamely.

“Oh.” You shuffle uneasily in your seat and drop your now-empty hands to your lap. You’re sweating an uncomfortable amount. “I—me, too.” Your face is so hot you think you’re going to explode.

“Called it,” Sugawara says, leaning across the bus’ dimly-lit aisle, his whisper louder than intended. You and Hinata jump at the same time.

“ _Koushi_ ,” the captain hisses, flustered.

“He totally did, though.” Hisashi doesn’t even pretend to keep his voice down. Tanaka’s starting to laugh somewhere at the front of the bus. “Suga-san’s the best at this stuff.”

“Oh, _god_ ,” Hinata moans, burying his face in his hands. You desperately want to do the same.  “I’m going to _die._ ”

You can’t help but agree.

**Author's Note:**

> aggravated sighing


End file.
